


Passive Aggressive Snow Blowers

by Spoodlemonkey



Series: Passive Aggressive Shoveling [2]
Category: RED (Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Humor, M/M, Snow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 22:00:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9036059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spoodlemonkey/pseuds/Spoodlemonkey
Summary: Sequel to Passive Aggressive Shoveling. This time it's war.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to my other fic, Marvin cameos but briefly...Happy Holidays!  
> As always dedicated to my lovely FrankxCooper muse, Katie!

Christmas Eve morning Cooper wakes up to an empty bed.

It’s not that unusual, Frank has a bad habit of waking up at five am, unable to fall back asleep. He naps later in the day—which Cooper fondly calls his _old man naps_ and secretly loves to curl up with him during—so instead of lying awake in bed he heads to the living room with a mug of coffee and the most recent trashy novel he’s obtained.

Cooper rolls out of bed an hour or two later, depending on if he’s working, and they have breakfast together. It’s taken him a year but he’s managed to mostly break Frank of his beans for breakfast routine; he discovered a while ago that Frank was playing it up mostly to force Cooper to cook for him. A professional chef Frank is _not_.

Then he gets ready for work, Frank gets ready for the work Victoria gets him they both pretend Cooper doesn’t know about for legal and moral reasons, and Cooper leaves with a kiss goodbye. He _really_ enjoys the days where the goodbye kiss is _lingering_. It usually bodes well for their evening.

Today’s a little different.  

He sleeps in, exhausted after getting in from a late night flight from Prague, and wakes up to a mechanical roar coming from outside.

Cooper’s up and out of the bed, boxers on and gun in hand before he clues in to what he’s hearing.

After one too many incidents where Frank had nearly blown his back out shoveling out the snow from their drive way that their _charming_ neighbor had shoveled into it in the _first place_ they’d gotten a small snow blower for Frank to play with.

There just hadn’t been any need to use it this winter.

Until now.

He shifts the blinds and nearly groans at the image in their front yard.

It’s not even nine and he can tell it’s going to be a long day.

Cooper locks up his gun—he has others he can access quickly and easily if needed—and grabs a pair of jeans and the nearest sweater. It turns out to be Franks and it’s loose across the shoulders, warm and soft. He throws on his socks and boots, grabs some gloves and heads out the door.

Marvin spots him first, taking one hand off the _second_ snow blower to wave cheerfully. He’s decked out in holiday spirit, covered in tinsel and string light necklaces, an absolutely _terrible_ reindeer sweater and antlers. He goes back to clearing the snow from around Coopers Tahoe.

“Hi honey!” Frank shouts to be heard over the motor. He’s clearing the front of the drive, and piling snow in their neighbors as a result, but he shuts it off when Cooper gets close enough.

“Are you getting senile?” He squints at Frank and the Santa hat perched jauntily on his head. “Cause I thought we decided to leave Mr. Duval alone this year.”

“We were,” Frank agrees, reaching out. Cooper lets him pull him into his arms, accepts the warm brush of lips against his. “But then Mrs. Jones down the street nearly broke her arm cause the _jackass_ didn’t ice his sidewalk.”

Cooper can _feel_ himself grow warmer as rage takes hold. He likes Mrs. Jones, she’s a lovely seventy-something who doesn’t give Cooper odd looks when he stumbles home, slightly bloody, and who calls Frank _Francis_ and pats his hand like he’s a twelve year old boy and not a fifty-three year old RED agent.

He eyes Marvin and his snow blower.

“So you recruited Marvin to the cause?”

“Didn’t need to, he likes Mrs. Jones. This is a hell of a lot tamer than what he’d had planned.”

Cooper has a feeling he shouldn’t ask so he can claim plausible deniability.

“They do get a lot of lift.” He muses, watching the snow shoot high over their fence. “Mr. Duval isn’t usually up before noon on Saturdays is he?”

Frank’s grin is vaguely shark-like.

Half an hour later Cooper has gathered a few of the neighborhood children willing to be up this early. Frank and Marvin have cleared all the snow from their drive and sidewalk, covering up Mr. Duval’s car and front walk. They start on Mr. Pascal’s yard who lives on the other side of Mr. Duval, while Cooper climbs into the snow pile and, with the kids, start patting down the snow. They’ve got it built up over the windows and doors by ten and by eleven the rest of the yard has been turned into some sort of bizarre apocalyptic fort.

A little while after there’s a muffled shout and part of the pile collapses as the man inside tries to open his door and lets in a mountain of snow instead.

The kids run off back home and Marvin and Frank secret their snow blowers away like they were never there.

“You alright there Duval?” Cooper calls out from the sidewalk. He can’t quite make out the response but he doesn’t think it was pleasant. “I’m sure a little salt will take care of all of this. Better do it soon though, wouldn’t want it to harden, I hear the temperature is dropping tonight.”

Frank meets him at the door to their home, grinning wide, cheeks pink and eyes bright.

“Think he’ll start salting his walk now?” He asks, pulling Cooper inside. Marvin has wisely relocated.

“If he doesn’t it’s supposed to snow again on Tuesday.” Cooper cheerfully strips off his soaked sweater. The cool air hits his skin and a moment later Franks warmer hands are popping the button of his wet jeans impatiently. “And we can head over with buckets of water to pour on top and time it to see how long it takes to freeze.”

“I love the way you think.” Hot lips are pressed insistently against his own.

They have _a lot_ of fun warming up.


End file.
